


Chorizo

by Spirishcat



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Cute, Drabble, Gen, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 00:22:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15182636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spirishcat/pseuds/Spirishcat
Summary: One of Héctor's bullies hasn't heard the news about Ernesto, Héctor and what really happened when he died. A cute one-shot involving a protective Imelda.





	Chorizo

Héctor was feeling stronger every day, better remembered everyday and Imelda could only think that Miguel had not only made sure Coco did not forget him, but that he was telling his Papá Héctor’s tales to anyone who would listen; it was the only reason she could think that he was healing so well. His bones were stronger, colours brighter, but there was still some problems which she tried to help with. Bandaging up the broken ones, but he still had a bit of a limp, and things were still a bit loose, though gracias a Dios, he had stopped being able to take his head off for jokes. 

He did walk much better in the shoes she had made him and she caught him looking at them sometimes, just looking and then he would smile, laugh in embarrassment if he realised she had seen him. She would kiss him, turning embarrassed laughter into a smile. Some people looked if they kissed in public; despite feeling as if all the world had been at that concert there were many who had not had tickets to the Sunrise Spectacular, and some still who hadn’t yet realised that the stories coming out about Ernesto referred to her Héctor and too often if they knew her, they wondered who he was, and if they knew of him they wondered who she was. 

“Hey, Chorizo!” The voice came from across the street, sing-song in nature as it carried through the air, and it was soon followed by a hysterical laugh and Héctor stopped, a scowl on his usually soft expression as he looked around for the origin of the call. Imelda did the same, a hand on her husband’s arm as she peered about until she saw an incredibly short man, carrying an instrument in a case. A musician. Someone Héctor knew? There were so many people he might have known in the decades she had kept him at bay...a whole afterlife she had no insight to. She held his arm a little more tightly, as if trying to convey remorse in touch alone. 

“Why is he shouting you? Do you know him?” She asked, peering at Héctor’s face which was still a scowl. “Why is he calling you that?” The man was still laughing and Héctor was still scowling. “Mi amor?” 

The affectionate tag drew him out of his thoughts.

“Ah, he’s just one of the stupid musicians who always play in the stupid plaza”

“Don’t eat too fast, Chorizo” The man continued to laugh, doubling over with enthusiasm now, finding his own joke, whatever the joke was very, very amusing. 

“No entiendo....” Imelda said, because the man was making any sense, and Héctor was not exactly explaining everything. 

“Because he died choking on a chorizo, lady!” The man spat out with barely contained amusement now. Clearly he was one of those who hadn’t yet heard the updates about Héctor’s death and De La Cruz’s part in it. Or maybe he had heard and just didn’t think it could be this Héctor. Either way, Imelda decided she did not like him.

Héctor pulled away and stepped forward angrily, “I did not die choking on chorizo. And it was not food--” He stopped when his attention, and the musician’s, was taken by Imelda who was hopping around on one foot as she struggled to take off her boot, which slipped off with a pop. 

“Imelda, I-” But before he could finish whatever he wanted to say his wife had already raised her boot with intent to smack the chorizo-man about the head. Héctor rushed forward and scooped her up under her arms, managing to pick her up and keep her out of reach of making contact with the attack. 

“Ay! Let go of me!” She shouted in protested, kicking a little to try and get herself back on the ground, but Héctor began to walk away, carrying her as he went, the sound of the musician’s laughter slowly fading into the distance. “Héctor! Put me down!” 

He only did so once the musician was entirely out of earshot. Imelda let out a sound of frustration as she stood there, balanced on one foot as she put her other boot back on. 

“Why did you do that?” She asked, straightening herself, and smoothing down her leather apron. “He was being a matón. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about--”

“Ey,” Héctor shrugged, “He’ll learn the truth soon enough and then he’ll feel as stupid as he is” 

“But--”

“It doesn’t matter Imelda,” He assured her, taking her arm and beginning to walk again. And he meant it; it didn’t matter. What did it matter that some stupid musician still called him Chorizo? His wife, the love of his life, the woman who had turned him away so many times, was prepared to attack a man that would call him a simple name. 

For the rest of their walk, Héctor could not keep the grin from his face.


End file.
